


Sticky Fingers

by il_mio_capitano



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/il_mio_capitano/pseuds/il_mio_capitano
Summary: Set between 'Welcome to the Hellmouth' and 'The Witch'. Buffy is trying to adjust to her new life when an incident in school causes her to harbour doubts about her weird new Watcher.
Relationships: Rupert Giles & Buffy Summers
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48
Collections: Summer of Giles





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to LittleOtter73

Any fears that Buffy had entertained that her wild popularity would put at risk her secret Slayer identity had proven unfounded. Disappointingly so if she were honest, because two days after she’d prevented the Master from rising by killing his vampire lackey in plain view of half the school at the Bronze, they, and the other half, were now actively regarding her as a freak with mental health problems who – if you hadn’t heard – totally burned down her last school. 

Walking down the school corridors and not having people trying to be her friend was a jarring change and telling herself they had all been shallow losers anyway didn’t really improve her mood. Her clothes were the latest from LA, her shoes to die for, her hair was perfect! And yet these people had branded her as one of the Weird. She walked past the lockers as attentions diverted and heads became engrossed with books. Yeah right, she thought, Welcome to Sunnydale, where denial and the undead go hand-in-hand.

Speaking of weird…she took a deep breath and entered the library. Never before had she spent so much time in a library, in LA it was ‘book me’ and go, but now she was doomed to spend her life hanging out in one with Watcher Weirdo-in-Chief. Why did he have to have a job at her school? And a librarian at that? And why was he the most British man ever? He stuck out like a sore thumb. Could she not have some shred of normality in her life?

She burst through the doors to find Willow and Xander the only other two students there. Willow had a pile of books spread around her. Xander had a pile of books he seemed to be making a fort with. 

Buffy checked the empty office and asked, “Where is…he?” She was never going to call him Mister Giles, but it did make conversation difficult. 

“Staff meeting,” Xander replied without looking up. Willow’s eyes brightened though.

“Are you here to report a thing or is it a secret thing?” she asked. Her excitement at the Slayer life was encouraging if a little troubling. “If it’s a secret thing, we could go?” Her offer was half-hearted. “Or not... whatever.”

“No biggie. Just checking in,” Buffy assured her, then blinked at the amount of work her friend seemed to be doing. “Is there a test? Should I have some of those books?”

“No, no,” Willow reassured. “I just like to read stuff.”

Buffy nodded and hopped up on the counter to wait. Since they’d lost Jessie, the two of them seemed to spend all their free time in the library. For Willow it was the comfort of knowledge. For Xander, it was the comfort of being with Willow. The small, unobtrusive girl was smart, but Buffy knew there was more to her than that. She was deceptively strong (even to herself) with a sense of not changing who she was just to try to impress anyone. You couldn’t help but like Willow and you couldn’t make her want to like you. Buffy admired the heck out of that, and Xander had clearly known that for ever. Poor Xander, she thought, watching him build more defences out of books, the boy was never going to be a fan of vampires. He was always going to see Jessie in each one.

The library doors opened to disturb her thoughts, and a sweaty Principal Flutie bustled in only to pull up in surprise at seeing Xander and Willow.

“Oh. Two students. Here!”

Buffy dangled her ankles on the counter but he seemed not to notice her, so she took a moment to observe his ill-fitting shiny suit, reflecting it probably wasn’t shiny when he’d first bought it. 

“Yes, that’s very good,” Flutie continued. “But no, no, very bad, you have to leave now. The library is closed today.”

“Why?” Buffy demanded, making him actually squeal as he startled. “Where’s the librarian?” 

“He’s er… taking some time off,” Flutie said as he entered the inner office. Buffy jumped down quickly and followed him as he opened and closed the desk drawers. “There was an incident in the Staff Lounge,” he added, checking the filing cabinet. 

“Is he hurt?”

“No,” Flutie was surprised. “Why should he be?” 

The filing cabinet wasn’t locked but the Principal seemed disappointed in his search.

Buffy pressed him, “But something happened?”

“Yes, some money has gone miss- I mean, it’s not where it should be.” He made little scooting gestures with his hands and backed her out of the office. “The library is closing now until we get this resolved.”

Willow was indignant. “Mr Giles wouldn’t steal any money. He’s British!” 

Xander cleared his throat and rested his chin on his hand.

“I’m not saying he stole it,” Flutie flustered. “Not yet. We haven’t called the police yet. Steal is a strong word. He’s just not being very cooperative -.” 

“And yet he’s British”, chipped in Xander, with exaggerated wonder.

“Cooperative about when he saw the money last,” Flutie finished.

“How much money?” Buffy demanded.

“Three hundred bucks.”

Xander whistled through his teeth. “That’s what passes for loose change in the staff lounge?”

“Not exactly, it was the betting pool on the number of final year graduates.” The Principal glowed a little red as he realised he’d dug himself in a hole. “It um, varies as people, um, choose not to collect their diploma.”

“Why wouldn’t they do that?” Willow asked innocently. Then the penny dropped. “Oh.”

Flutie rallied. “So yes. It’s great to see you with the books and everything. Don’t let this discourage you though.” He faked a smile at Willow. “I see a bright future for you in research and,” he looked at Xander’s book fort. “Er... construction maybe? Anyway, you all have to leave now.”

Unable to get any further information, Buffy and her friends filed out of the library and the Principal locked the doors and left them to their discussion. 

“Well. Well. Well,” began Xander. 

Willow and Buffy both glared at him. “Three ‘Wells’ do not an accusation make,” he claimed. “But there is an inevitable conclusion…”

“No. Not inevitable. He’s supposed to be my Watcher, not some part-time cat burglar. The Council sent him to me. It’s gotta be a mistake.”

“Yes, maybe because he’s British it’s different there,” Willow began in support. “Maybe it’s a custom there to help themselves to...,” She stopped. “OK, maybe not.”

“They built an empire on helping themselves,” Xander offered, with a little more historical knowledge than Buffy would’ve liked from him at that point.

“Not helping here, guys,” she snapped, trying to think.

Willow had more excuses. “Maybe the Council is poor and don’t pay him?” 

Buffy highly doubted that. The Council were shadowy and pompous and to her mind that meant they sat on the riches of kings and drank tea all day. They’d pay their Watchers, maybe not a lot, but they’d pay them. 

“I think they do,” she said. “He didn’t get those demonology books at a five and dime.”

“Not unless he stole them,” Xander suggested. “What? I’m just saying we don’t know the guy. Sure, you stopped an apocalypse and he helped you do that, but why shouldn’t he be light-fingered at the same time? Does it even matter ‘saving-the-world-wise’?” He shrugged with a half-smile. “Apart from not leaving your valuables lying around that is?” 

“I don’t believe the Council would send me someone like that!”

“Of course not. And he’s Mr Giles!” Willow’s arguments continued to be adamantly supportive if ultimately groundless.

The hall bell rang.

“Feet of clay, ladies,” said Xander. “Feet of clay.” And he walked off to their next class.

Willow touched Buffy’s arm. “Don’t be mad with him. He’s been let down before. I’m sure even if Mr Giles took the money, there’s a perfectly good explanation.”

Buffy nodded and let her friend chase after Xander. Cutting the next class could come back to bite her, but if there was a good explanation for the missing money, then she was resolved to find it. Flutie had checked the office drawers, but he didn’t have the authority to check the librarian’s car. Buffy slipped out to the parking lot. She knew which his car was, for one thing it was the one no-body wanted to park next to for fear of rust cooties. She tentatively tried the trunk which either wasn’t, or couldn’t be, locked. Did the man not lock anything? 

She pulled back a tartan rug to find…weapons, really quite a lot of bad-assery crossbows and swords. Maybe Xander had a point and the man just had to supplement his council allowance? Maybe the Council had deep pockets, but short arms when it came to paying Watchers? She grudgingly thought his pathetic car alone backed up that theory.

But no, to Buffy’s mind there was something wrong with having an actual thief sending her on life-and-death missions. Yes, secret identities and slaying demons required a high level of bare faced lying, but she wanted to believe she had a Watcher with a moral compass. Or at least a map and a sturdy pair of hiking boots when it came to knowing right from wrong. Having one that was weird was one thing, having a sticky-fingered one was quite another.

She heard the Watcher from across the parking lot before he saw her. Slayer hearing combined with him having the only British accent in town gave her an advantage. He was arguing, well, being awkward mainly, with Principal Flutie, who was escorting him off the premises. Buffy had nowhere to hide, so she slipped into the open trunk and pulled it down over her. The voices were muffled, so she couldn’t make out actual words, but her Watcher was probably doing that exasperating dry sarcasm thing he usually ran on her. She only heard the occasional indignant squeak of protest from Flutie. 

Suddenly the driver’s door slammed and after two laboured attempts, the ignition fired. Ok then, she thought, ‘Road Trip. Let’s see what you’ve got to hide, Mister.’


	2. Chapter 2

As the Watcher’s car performed yet another ill-advised left turn that caused other traffic to screech their tyres and honk loudly, Buffy started to wonder if he even knew he was supposed to drive on the right-hand side of the road. Her fierce determination to get to the bottom of the mystery was starting to waiver as she braced herself inside of his trunk. She had a rug between her and the very sharp and pointy weapons, but one more lurching stop and it was only going to be useful to stem the flow of blood. Why, why did he need so many weapons? And did he really have to drive like a maniac? What if the cops pulled him over and searched the car, would he be able to explain this many swords and crossbows? Although, she conceded with grim humour, their attention might first be focused on seeing the teenage girl in his trunk. Explain that one!

Mercifully, he stopped and killed the engine. The ride from hell was over, and Buffy heard the car door slam. She waited twenty seconds and popped the trunk. She was in a parking lot at a hospital and the Watcher’s broad tweedy shoulders were heading into the building. Buffy gave discrete chase and stealthily watched him take the elevator. She was about to bound blindly up the stairs when the panel indicated it had stopped on the fourth floor and was then returning. When it came back empty, she conceded that took some of the guesswork out of it.

Buffy took the stairs anyway. The fourth floor was subdued, there were visitors walking into private rooms, but everyone spoke in low voices. There was a cafeteria at the far end, but she figured it unlikely, even as an Englishman, he’d driven here just to buy a plastic cup of tea. No, he was visiting someone in one of these rooms, and so Buffy was too. Bowing her head, she breezed past the nurses’ station, and cast glances through open doors looking for signs of  _ tweed _ .

A man’s voice called out her name from a room as she passed. She stopped and cautiously looked in.

“Miss Summers, I thought that was you.” Buffy recognised the speaker as Mr Brown, a gentle soul in his fifties, who ineffectively taught math at Sunnydale High. “Are you looking for someone?”

“No,” she began, stepping further into the room. The teacher was sitting at the bedside of a frail old lady. “I just…oh..,” she stopped as she realised the monitors had been switched off. There was clearly a family resemblance although where he looked tired, and she looked at rest. “I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Mr Brown smiled gently. “Did you know my mother? No? Well it’s kind of you to drop by.” He looked lost and distracted, staring at the bed. “I confess it’s been such a long time coming I hardly know what to think now she’s gone.”

Dead bodies no longer had the power to upset Buffy but trampling on other people’s grief still made her uneasy.

“I’m intruding,” she began. “You probably want to be alone.”

“Ah, Robert.” Mr Brown addressed someone in the doorway behind her. “Did you find my glasses?”

Buffy turned to see the Watcher, carrying a black glasses case, two cans of soda and a serious frown. She gestured her head to the bed before he said anything to regret.

“Oh, I see,” he said, his eyes on the motionless figure. “Yes, I did. They were in the cafeteria as you said, and I picked up these in case you wanted....” He waved the cans. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Mr Brown said, taking his glasses but waving away the offer of sodas. “And look, Miss Summers is here too.”

“Yes. Yes, she is,” the Watcher confirmed politely before hissing to Buffy, “And just why is Miss Summers here?”

“I’m paying my respects,” she replied primly.

He returned her primness with a narrowed-eyed smile and said, “And that’s lovely of her indeed,” as he stuffed the soda cans into his tweed jacket pockets. “But I think we both should be going now.”

“Oh, but wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Mr Brown asked. “I thought it was something important?”

The Watcher coloured slightly.

“Well, er, yes. There was. Um...” He took a deep breath. “I realise now isn’t the best time, but there’s been a bit of a kerfuffle in the staff room.” Mr Brown’s eyes looked glazed; Buffy rolled hers. “You see the thing is…um, well quite the hubbub…to speak delicately…and yet directly…”

Directly didn’t look like it was coming any time soon. Looking at the dead woman on the bed, Buffy completely understood his reticence at tackling the whole ‘where’s the money, dude?’ subject. Tall, Dark and Tweedy had obviously driven over with the purpose of confronting the suspected thief, but now, he was fumbling with words like he was in a made for television, Jane Austen mini-series. She needed to speed things along and possibly translate Regency British for him.

“The Graduation pool money has been taken,” she butted in. “From the staff lounge. They think he took it, but do you know anything about it?”

Watcher-Man made a sort of strangulated noise in his throat indicating her interpretation of ‘direct’ differed vastly from his. Fortunately, had either of them feared offending Mr Brown, they’d have feared in vain, because the math teacher wasn’t in the least upset.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to put that back,” the man said innocently. “I left my card at the grocery store and I needed... well, I haven’t had a chance to return it. Stupid of course, but I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Well, they have,” Buffy confirmed. “Hence hubbub and kerfuffle-age.”

“Quite.” The Watcher took over. “It might be best if you mention it when you call Principal Flutie?” he suggested smoothly.

The math teacher promised that of course he would, and they left him to start making his sad arrangements and rode the elevator down together in stony silence. He was mad at her, but she was still mad at him too, damnit.

She was purposefully heading back towards his car when she realised he’d stopped to sit on the hospital steps and open one of his soda cans. Returning, she tried looming over him with hands on hips, but he was a big guy and completely indifferent to her glowers. Eventually she sat next to him and waited in silence. After an eternity, she asked, “Can I have the other can?”

“Nope.”

“Is Mr Brown a good friend?”

“Nope.”

Some people walked past them, got in their cars and drove away. Buffy tried a more open question.

“How did you sleuth he took the money?”

“I’d like to say it involved my deerstalker and magnifying glass,” he answered sarcastically. “But actually, I saw him do it.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“Not my place to. And I thought there would be an innocent explanation. I didn’t jump to any wild conclusions.”

Buffy let that slide.

“Do you think he’ll remember to call and explain?”

“Yes, Buffy. It’s hardly going to be his first priority given the circumstances, but yes, I believe he will. He seems a good man.”

“Why did you cover for him?”

“Because I knew his mother was dying. I thought it would be the decent thing to buy him some time.”

“That was good of you. But stupid. You could have gone to prison.”

“Hardly.”

“You were escorted off School premises by Principal Flutie.”

“I’ve been thrown out of worse places than that.” He finally turned to look at her. “And you seem very well informed? In fact,  _ why _ are you here?”

“I have a vested interest in your weird ways,” she defended. “I don’t want to have to count the spoons every time you come to my house.”

“I’m never coming to your house.”

“Then we’re OK, then. Robert!”

“That’s not actually my name, he really is only an acquaintance.” He shrugged and added with a modicum of pride, “My name is Rupert.”

Buffy burst out laughing. “Oh my god. I’m so not calling you Rupert, ever.”

“I should hope not,” she heard him say icily, as her laughter gave way to debilitating coughing and hiccups. Having a Slayer choke to death would not look too good on his Council reports, so grudgingly, he popped the other soda and passed it to her.

“Thanks. I’m sorry,” she hiccupped, “But you sprang that on me. I wasn’t ready.”

“It’s a very distinguished name,” he declared.

“Sure, I bet there’s not two in the Sunnydale phone book.”

The sun was bouncing off his glasses, but he smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth and Buffy knew she was maybe a little way forgiven.

As an olive branch he said, “I suppose you can call me, Giles.”

That she could do, she thought. ‘This is my Watcher, Giles’. Yes, that she could do.

“I am invested though. What you did for Mr Brown, I get that you did a good thing, a kind thing, but Principal Flutie still could have fired you. And then you could have been deported.”

“The Council would have sent you another Watcher.”

“Maybe I don’t want that.” She’d spoken quickly and felt the need to regain her independence. “Because I’ve had a lot of changes in my life recently. So maybe I don’t want to have to train up another Watcher.” She gave him her most winning smile. “One who will be giving me a ride back to school?”

He smothered a grin at that and rose.

“Come on, then, my car is this way.”

“I know, I can still see the smoke rising from it,” she teased as she stood and headed in that direction though she stopped and smiled to wait for him to catch her up. Maybe she could face down the demons, both in and under Sunnydale High, with Giles at her back. It was comforting to know he would always know what was right.

“Thank you, Giles,” she said, trying out the name. “And thanks for the soda.”

“Oh no need to thank me,” he said as he strode past her. “It’s not like I paid for it.”

_ The end. _


End file.
